The Switch
by Epsilon Scorpii
Summary: What if the Prophecy was revealed 15 years late? The only one that knows the identity of the Chosen One is Draco Malfoy... but he'd once been best friends with the enemy too. HP DM not slash, starts from Fourth Year. AU.
1. Chapter 1

_AU, set in a world where the Prophecy was revealed 15 years late. The only one that knows the secret is the Minister's son... but he'd once been best friends with the enemy too._

DISCLAIMER: Everything recognizable belongs to J. K. Rowling.

_This chapter is dedicated to **BreathingStar **in thanks for beta-reading this chapter (especially for correcting **all** my awful hyphens)__, giving me the first and longest review I've ever received, pointing out so many helpful points so that I can better understand the readers' perspective, as well as being a major source of inspiration :D Thank you!_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

He was standing beneath a shady tree overlooking the Black Lake, which was stretched out before him calm like an oval disc. It was late autumn, and the evening breeze brought with it the sting of chill. He looked around uneasily, noting the blurry edges of the scene. _A memory_, he thought, _once more I have failed to ward my mind properly and the magic of the Mind Arts are tampering with my mind again._

He looked around once more, eyes scanning the green lustre and the flat peaceful waters of the lake. Already its sides were slowly beginning to freeze; under the sinking evening sun, he thought he could see light sparkle off the edges, as if whispering the hint of ice crystals.

There was a sudden 'plop', and a streak of something black whizzed past him, falling into the lake with a quiet splash. Immediately the calm waters were destroyed, and circular waves spread outwards to mark the fall of the pebble. Surprised, he turned around and looked up, his breath catching in his throat when he did.

There were two boys above him, one with dark hair, trying his best to balance on a high, flimsy branch - another was blonde, sitting on a relatively low and safe one. Of course, it had to be Draco.

He struggled effortlessly for a moment, willing himself to focus and rid of the painstakingly familiar picture. It was just a memory. More than that, it was something he did not want to be reminded of.

_"Protego_," he said aloud, shifting his eyes away from the pair who seemed to be laughing over something. "_Protego! Protego!"_

Whether by pure chance or power, he didn't know - on his third cry the scene seemed to dissolve around the edges, before fading out like a blurred memory. He allowed his shoulders to sag a little; it felt more than a little uncomfortable watching a memory he'd sworn to himself he'd forgotten years ago play in his mind. As though all those times had just been yesterday.

He barely had time to catch his breath before another scene came rushing back into his mind in full clarity. He caught in a glimpse of it, and instantly he felt as though he were doused in ice cold water. Damn it, he thought frustratedly, of all memories, this one has to be it!

He arrived cursing Eldred Arsfield (the author of the Beginner's Guide to Mind Arts) over and over again, in the middle of a high-ceilinged pitch dark chamber. He stumbled backwards, trying to back out of the scene and crash back into reality, but all he managed was to bump painfully into something rough, hard and cold. He turned around and came face to face with the two stone serpent statues in the Chamber of Secrets. He was suddenly reminded of the awful hiss that sounded in response whenever the Heir of Slytherin gave an order and had to bite back a shudder.

It's just a memory, he repeated to himself firmly over and over again. Just a memory.

Where the scene previously had been quiet and serene, this one spoke a different story. There were loud echoes reverberating off the empty walls of the forbidding chamber, clashing of what sounded like a metal trapdoor and shouts around him. For a moment he allowed himself to turn and recognize the scene, before instantly wishing he hadn't.

Not far from where he was standing, the ghostly figure of Tom Riddle Jr. was growing more and more corporeal, and the spirit was spinning his wand in his hands. He saw a younger version of himself barely holding up a girl - her red hair was sprawled and matted as her head hung lifelessly, lolling like a hideous doll. His face was half-streaked with blood, and he knew he was shaking badly. Harry looked away from the younger version of himself, fists clenched by his side - but instead his gaze was drawn towards the younger version of Draco Malfoy.

The blonde boy looked terrified, but Draco was rushing forwards all the same, wand outstretched. Three jets of light were thundering out of the Slytherin's wand even as Draco advanced towards where the Horcrux was standing. It was when he saw the boy's mouth moving, forming words, that he realized that Draco was shouting. Draco was good, he thought absently to himself. He'd always been a strong duellist.

Tom Riddle Jr. looked over, and quite suddenly a gripping sense of dread pinched at his heart. A strong current of dark magic was roiling at the Horcrux's fingertips, and in the next moment Draco was flung away like a ragged doll, crashing helplessly into the wall opposite.

The younger Harry exchanged more words with Tom Marvolo Riddle, yelling abuse and calling Draco's name again and again, but this time round Harry only watched Draco. Watched as his once-best friend struggled through the rubble, raising one bloody hand to hurl one last thing towards young Harry - the blood-stained pages of Tom Riddle's diary.

"_Protego!_" he repeated again firmly as he averted his eyes, trying his best to rid himself of this nightmare. "_Protego_!"

The Basilisk barred its fangs, at the same moment younger Harry caught the diary Horcrux. His screams bounded off the walls as the Baslisk ripped into his arm, pinning the bleeding diary to his flesh. His screams were mingled with Riddle's.

No, it wasn't him. It was just the memory of him. It was all in the past...

Harry turned away, feeling nauseous as he pressed his hands to his ears. It wasn't real, not any more. It hadn't been for three years! "Protego! PROTEGO!" he shouted, to no one in particular, ears ringing over the voices of his and Riddle's.

The scene blurred out, growing then shrinking in size, before finally shattering into a thousand shards. He stumbled backwards, heart still thumping wildly in his ribcage. He turned around, feeling marginally better at leaving his worst nightmare behind, but then suddenly he came face-to-face with his best friend, or at least he'd been at that time. It was Draco, and he was smiling - a cocky one at that, and he gave Harry a wave. Then Harry stepped up onstage to the ringing applause of the Great Hall. Everyone was cheering, whistling, and even Ron Weasley his arch-enemy, was on his feet, clapping loudly. Draco then stepped forwards, waving to the crowd, enjoying the attention immensely. Harry rolled his eyes and gave Draco a subtle shove.

Then Dumbledore's voice rang out bright and clear, "To the brightest wizards of their age, I give you Harry Evander and Draco Malfoy! Hogwarts, and I, will forever be in your debt."

Draco only nodded with his annoying smirk-smile to receive their School Award. Harry made to subtly shove him again, but when he did so his fingers only met thin air. He blinked, momentarily confused, but when he looked up again, there was no one on the stage, nor was there any ringing applause. Instead cold furious eyes were burning into him as he stood alone on the podium, trying his best to control his shaking hands. There were hundreds of eyes, watching his actions in tense silence. Then his voice rang out around the hall, loud and steady despite his shaky fear inside. But there was a burning rage inside him when the Minister smirked with pleasure, when he was forced to bow before the man in humble apology. And all the while, his eyes were staring hard at the Slytherin table at the far end of the hall, but Draco's eyes never met his.

They never did again, not like they used to - not for a year, not even after that.

_A sharp sting across his face - her ring drawing blood -_

There was a particular scene that kept replaying, though. Of Draco walking down the opposite end of the corridor. He himself was on the other side, a broom slung over his shoulder, laughing with his Gryffindor team mates after they'd just flattened the Hufflepuffs in the semi- finals. He looked up, and there was some measure of surprise on Draco's face too when Harry noticed him watching. After that they'd quickly turned and walked away, almost simultaneously. Pretending to the rest of their House mates that everything was normal when it wasn't alright at all.

The accumulated suffocating numbness seared his heart, and in the next second Harry Evander woke, breathing heavily in the quiet chill of the boy dormitories of the Gryffindor Tower.

With an angry flick, he flung the large tome on Mind Arts off his chest, where it had been after he'd fallen asleep while reading it last night.

But the heaviness in his chest didn't lighten any.

* * *

_**The Switch**_

* * *

It turned out that feigning ignorance, something he had been good at for the past three years, was getting gradually less effective in solving his problems.

After tossing around for another agonizing hour, he finally gave up sleep. Instead, he pulled on his shoes, grabbed his cloak and cast the best Disillusionment Charm he could on himself, before slipping out quietly of the boys' dormitory.

After the initial stuffiness of the Gryffindor Tower, he found the chill of the night breeze a welcoming change. A barely audible sigh left his lips before he could help it, and he leaned back tiredly against the pillar behind him.

It was one of his favorite places in the school, mostly because he was the only few who knew of its existence. It was a small cramped balcony outside an abandoned classroom on the third floor. The doors and windows leading outside were barred, but he had managed to creep in through a hole where the glass had broken.

He looked down from where he was, legs swinging from the edge of the balcony where he sat. It was indeed late autumn, just like in his dream-like memory, and the cold wind was whistling a tuneless melody as it crept through the broken glass into the classroom. He glanced downwards, and ironically, the Black Lake was stretched out before him, seemingly small and calm just as it had been all those days before.

It had been just the side-effect of practising Mind Arts by himself, he knew - the book had warned of such possibilities if he went to sleep directly after practising Mind Arts without clearing his mind properly. It was highly probable that he would fall into a virtual Pensieve of his mind and get trapped in his own memories forever, unless he managed to break himself out. Which meant that it was extremely dangerous, and Professor Snape would skin him alive if he ever knew what he was attempting. The man was the one who'd given him the permission slip to enter the Restricted Section after all. Perhaps he should seek help from the Professor instead of trying to learn Mind Arts by himself; he knew Snape was well-versed in both Legilimency and Occlumency.

But the thought of revealing his memories to Snape, especially those with Draco, the Philosopher's Stone or the Chamber of Secrets, still felt highly uncomfortable and made him feel like cringing. Even though Professor Snape had known them both before their friendship began and ended, it still felt too... personal. He didn't feel like sharing it with anybody else.

He would continue to try on his own, and meanwhile he would have to bear with the nightmares. He wasn't quite certain when exactly did it begin, but every now and then he would get odd flashes of scenes and memories, some he could place and others he couldn't. It had been that way ever since the Chamber of Secrets incident.

Subconsciously, he reached up his fingers to brush against his scar on his forehead. Strangely, it was the shape of a lightning- bolt, and while he was certain he'd gotten it from the Basilisk grazing his forehead, Madam Pomfrey hadn't been so sure. She said it had been some dark magic of some sort, and it had left some residual mark on him. Perhaps Riddle had tried to strike him for the last time before the diary's last resistance to the Baslisk venom gave way. He didn't know, neither did he want to, and he had adamantly refused further probings and magical tests. In any case, he didn't feel like dwelling on these thoughts any longer.

He turned around to head back indoors, before noting with no small amount of surprise and unease - the small cramped space of the balcony was sparkling clean. It had always been dirty and covered with an old layer of accumulated dust and grime, which had given the place an abandoned, and strangely, safe feeling. As if no one could ever find him here. Now, it was as if even a speck of dirt couldn't be found.

The only other person that ever entered this place didn't have a reason to any more.

Harry shook his head and forced the thought from his head. It was pointless to dwell on the past, after all.

He crept through the broken glass panels and jumped nimbly back into the classroom, leaving the balcony behind.

* * *

_**The Switch**_

* * *

The next morning found the Fifth Year Gryffindors and Slytherins cramped up in a dingy classroom at the top of the Divination Tower. On any other day, cramping the two rival houses in such a small space studying a boring subject would surely lead to a string of fights and duels. But just on that particular Tuesday, the weather seemed too relaxing for even the most hot-blooded Gryffindor and meanest Slytherin to rise against the opposite House. Even the wind seemed to be blowing at a slow-motioned, moderate pace. It wasn't rough or wild, though it did send a few parchments flying, it was more like a caress than anything else. The autumn chill also helped to relieve the mustiness in the classroom somewhat.

Most importantly, rain was falling outside, a wonderful gentle drizzle, beating a rhythmic pitter-patter against the windows. Combined with the effect of the flickering candles and the Professor's misty voice, it made the classroom seem more suitable for another course of action-sleep.

Harry, as usual, was dozing off against the table, his forehead leaning against the cool wood surface, eyelids heavy.

"Drink from your teacups dears!" Professor Trelawney's misty voice hailed them from behind the smoky candles. There was an odd fragrance in the classroom as well, as if she were brewing roses in her teapot. "Remember to leave behind enough for you to swirl your tea leaves!"

Beside him, Dean gave him a subtle nudge and pushed his teacup nearer to him. Harry groaned. Sometimes he wished he'd followed Hermione's footsteps and ditched Divination altogether back during their Third Year. But then again, he was the one who was guilty of taking it for the simple reason of it being one of the easier subjects to score, compared to others. Ancient Runes for instance sounded ominous.

Now he was beginning to rethink his logic.

Speaking of which... he didn't know why Draco was still in this classroom either. The Slytherin probably thought it was just another subject for him to ace an 'O' in his OWLs.

"Evander!"

Harry's head snapped up so fast, he thought he heard his neck give a protesting crack.

"Drink," Dean mouthed to him, pointing at the teacup again.

Wary of the Professor's eye on him, he quickly picked up the cup and drained his tea. It tasted foul and had a terrible cold, sticky residue that clung to his tongue after he'd finished. He grimaced and wiped his mouth using his sleeve, but stopped when he noticed everyone was staring at him. Especially the Professor.

He stood up gingerly. Did she ask him a question?

"Yes, professor," he said all the same, feeling more uncertain than he sounded.

She pinned her mouth into a thin line as she looked him up and down from behind her huge spectacles. Harry suddenly felt as though he were a specimen about to be dissected.

"It is now time for you to drink from your partner's teacups," Professor Trelawney said at last, her eyes still trained uncomfortably on Harry. "But first, I require two students for a demonstration. Evander, Malfoy, come up front."

Immediately the entire class fell silent. Outside the rain seemed to fall heavier than ever; even the whistling wind grew more and more like a faraway savage howl.

Harry instantly felt all vestige of sleep leave him. Of course, this hadn't been the first time. Over the years ever since their friendship had ended, the staff had come up with a ridiculous number of ways to get them together again. They were paired up in classes, discussions, demonstrations, projects - everything involving a group or just them both - except for duels. They got into enough fights as it was. Though the stifling tension was initially hard to bear, it never got any easier.

Biting back a groan, knowing by experience it was futile to refuse, Harry reluctantly left his seat and trudged up front. He could tell by the other's shuffling footsteps that Draco was just as willing as he was.

"Drink from the teacups in front of you," Professor Trelawney said, gesturing to the china teacups lay out before them on a small circular table. Harry barely hid a grimace as he picked up his cup. But then he noticed that the tea inside was a semi-transparent brown, and not the greenish-black liquid he'd drained back at his table. To his relief, it tasted infinitely better too.

"Now after that, swirl your tea leaves three times clockwise and switch cups with your partner."

Wordlessly, Harry did as he was told. Both of them were careful to place their cups on the table and nudge it over to the other as unwillingly as possible when switching.

"Now, drink the remaining tea left in the cups you are holding."

Harry picked up Draco's cup and nearly held it to his lips before he paused. Drink from-?

Beside him, his 'partner' was barely concealing his disgust at the prospect.

"Drink from this?" Draco repeated, holding up the teacup incredulously.

"He can't drink from that, Professor," Harry spoke up with a neutral expression. "He might suffer from a terrible disease and die from tainting his tongue with a Muggleborn's saliva."

No one jeered, no one laughed. Not even the Gryffindors. It was as if they knew it was a personal fight and left them alone to it.

"It's not like you both have never done it before," Trelawney snapped instead. "Stop making such a big deal out of it, or it'll be detention with me tonight. Both of you."

Only the thought of being stuck in detention with Draco Malfoy under Professor Trelawney made his skin crawl. Ignoring the poisonous look Draco shot him, he threw back Draco's cup and swallowed the rest of the tea. A few seconds later, Draco followed suit.

"Overturn the cups on the saucers, and count to three before turning them the right way up. After that we'll proceed to reading tea leaves. Both of you can share this book," Trelawney added in a horribly pretentious nonchalant expression.

She then placed a book on the table between them and walked away to address the class. Harry only gritted his teeth in annoyance.

Of all professors, Trelawney was the worst of them all.

* * *

**_The Switch_**

* * *

"How have they been, Filius?"

It was their weekly unofficial staff meeting in the general office, and most naturally their main topic revolved around the two students- Harry Evander and Draco Malfoy. The unlikely duo, one a Gryffindor, raised in a Muggle Orphanage, the other a Slytherin, a Pureblood, the Minister's son. As far as the professors knew, the two had been best of friends and were rarely seen without each other - but they had drifted apart ever since Third Year. It had been but a short two years' worth of friendship, but when they'd been friends, they had been close.

"They generally pretend to ignore each other's existence, but when they get paired up they just fight as much as possible," the Charms Professor replied with a sigh. "Frankly I don't think trying to get them together again is going to work."

"It's a fool's wish," Snape interjected bluntly, "Draco's father has forbidden him to associate with Evander any longer."

"That didn't stop Mr. Malfoy when they were in their First and Second Year," McGonagall said crisply. "And besides, correct me if I'm wrong Severus, but I was under the impression that you wanted to get them together again as much as we do."

"I have no intention to go against his father's wishes," Snape said sourly, "and I do not fancy 'getting them back together' as if they were long lost lovers. It would, however, make my job infinitely easier if I could trust them to brew a simple potion together when they happen to be paired up without causing a mass disaster. Need I remind you of the incident last month? Evander could hardly use his hand for one entire week, and I had to brew him Murtlap Essence on top of my endless pile of work."

Professor Grubby-Plank only sighed and looked out of the window. "They did good for each other though," she said. "Back during those days, Mr. Malfoy had compromised his views on blood status when he was friends with Evander. Now the boy is more influenced by his father than ever, he actually listens to the man and shares his vile views. For a while I was hopeful, but it seems now that he'll just grow up into another Lucius Malfoy."

"And don't even get me started on Evander," McGonagall said with a note of annoyance and frustration in her voice, "he practically flunks every one of his classes carelessly! He doesn't complete his work, fails his exams or scrapes a borderline pass when he clearly understands the material."

"How can he understand the work when he's busy doing something else in every class?" Professor Sinistra spoke up.

"Don't expect me to believe that," McGonagall very nearly growled. "That boy does it on purpose. He only focuses on what he deems interesting but doesn't care for other subjects at all. And besides, I hear he behaves just fine in Severus' class. He even got the highest marks in his essay last week, didn't he, Severus?"

Snape barely hid his satisfied expression. "It seems that the boy has a certain taste in preferences," he remarked, causing McGonagall's expression to sour.

"I'm his Head of House," she said, miffed, "yet he doesn't talk to me about anything. Even after the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets incidents... he never said anything about it. Just smiled and said he was fine, when it must have been a traumatic experience for a boy his age. He wouldn't even give Professor Dumbledore the details. Just a few key points to escape questioning."

"The boy's just independent," Professor Grubby-Plank said consolingly. "He's been brought up as an orphan all his life, I bet he never had anyone to lean on. It's just how he operates. I'm sure he's fine."

Even as the words left her mouth, the rest of the sentence seemed to hanging unfinished in the air - even if he isn't, we can't do much else about it. McGonagall didn't like it, but it was true - Harry wasn't an open person by nature, and there were rare few that he trusted. If he didn't wish to confide in them, there wasn't anything they could do to help.

"We can only hope so," she said with a sigh.

They sat there briefly in silence, Snape grading essays as viciously as he could with a red quill, Sinistra staring at her clasped hands in her lap, Flitwick staring out of the window wistfully, as if he could see the war raging in Britain beyond the fog threatening to close in. Minerva frowned as she followed Flitiwick's gaze… the fog had gathered and spread rapidly over the past few minutes, thick and relentless despite the autumn sun. She guessed it was probable that the weather would be chilly approaching this time of the year, but it just seemed… unnatural.

She opened her mouth to say something, but then the scratching of Snape's quill on paper stopped abruptly. She looked up and immediately recognized his expression - hard, calm and barely hiding his pain. Perhaps it was because she had come to know him so well that she knew what was happening that very instant. For one, he had gone rigidly still and his left hand was curled into a fist.

"If that's all for the meeting, I'll be leaving," he said finally in clipped tones, even pausing to gather his papers before he left. "I have errands to run."

He turned and swept out of the room, shooting her a meaningful glance as he did. She understood it completely.

Snape had just been Summoned by the Dark Lord.

Professor Dumbledore needed to be notified. He was currently held up at a meeting with the Minister's Undersecretary, a pompous, influential man by the name of Cornelius Fudge - to discuss changes the Ministry intended to bring to Hogwart's curriculum. He needed to be informed, just in case there was to be another Death Eater raid. Enough towns, both Muggle and magical had fallen under the Dark Lord's rapid spread of power. They couldn't afford to lose, not even one more.

"I'll be in my office then," McGonagall said, and she too rose from her seat, leaving Sinistra nodding absently and Flitwick gazing out of the window.

* * *

**_The Switch_**

* * *

In the Divination Tower, Trelawney continued on her excruciating lecture.

"…a rose tells a hidden picture," she said, holding up Harry's cup. "Perhaps hidden motives, or maybe even hidden feelings. Divination interpretations vary slightly according to circumstances, after all."

Harry swallowed back a snide retort and forced himself to clamp his tongue still. He wouldn't do a single good to rise at every remark; he had to act indifferently, he wouldn't play this game. The deluded professor would have to concede to that.

He could tell, across the classroom - that was exactly what Draco was trying to do. The Slytherin had an impassive mask over his face, but there was a steely edge to his eyes as they rested on the professor's falsely bright voice.

"We are fortunate that the tip of the leaf here does not curve downwards, or it would symbolize a bird of predator." She paused for dramatic effect. "This creature… this creature speaks of imminent doom."

Parvati gave a quiet 'ooh' and beside her, Lavender Brown gasped. Harry bit down hard on his tongue. No snide remarks, he told himself sternly.

"It is also quite fortunate that this leaf does not branch out into a siren," Trelawney continued in a hushed tone, as if any risen volume might incur the wrath of fate upon her or something. "As we all know, the siren whispers danger… but what is it here?"

She lifted their cups and stared at them through her thick lenses, her expression morphing slowly into one of absolute horror, before she let out an ear-splitting scream. "It's the Grim!" she cried, "they both have the Grim."

Perhaps it would've been slightly more believable if she'd said that his cup contained the Grim, just like what she'd predicted last year when Pettigrew had broken out of Azkaban - but saying both he and Draco had the Grim… that just sounded laughable. A bad fluke, to call it properly.

Harry rolled his eyes and slumped over the table. In front of him, Lavender gave an excited sort of squeal, "Evander just slumped over!"

He made to say something, but Draco beat him to it. "Evander just died of boredom."

The horrified look on Trelawney's face was quickly replaced by irritation. "Malfoy, Evander, stay back after class."

A block of cold ice settled in the pit of his stomach. Sometimes he wondered if Trelawney was actually a sadist behind the mask of a Divination professor. Enjoy inflicting pain… it certainly fitted her personality.

She continued to launch into a lengthy explanation of deriving meanings and definitions based on the symbols and feelings obtained from reading the crystal ball, or in his case - tea leaves. Harry instantly felt the last remnants of his patience with Divination snap. He'd once believed that it was a useful, obscure branch of magic wizards used to learn the future, but with Trelawney's teaching, he was pretty convinced that Hermione was right all along.

He tuned her out of the rest of the lesson, his eyes staring out of the window absently. Far away at the outskirts of Hogwarts, he could be able to make out the faint outline of Hogsmeade, but the fog that day was thick and obscured his vision.

He leaned back in his seat and started counting down the seconds for something better to do.

Three… two…one…

The bell rang. Finally! He got up with his bag slung over his shoulder, prepared to leave as quickly as humanly possible, but Trelawney's voice cut through the bustling students - "Evander and Malfoy! Stay back or it'll be detention!"

Harry groaned. There really was no way out of this one, it seemed.

They made their way to the front of the classroom, avoiding all eye contact. Trelawney, however, had retreated further back behind the classroom and was pretending to be busy arranging the crystal balls and Mist Glass and whatever else she had there. It was gloomy and dark in the storage room, and Harry had no intention of nearing the storage room. He could tell by Draco's disdainful look that the Slytherin didn't, either.

"Professor," he called. There wasn't a response.

Behind him, students were laughing and packing their bags at a leisurely pace; most of them wouldn't be taking Ancient Runes later, so it would be a free lesson.

He sighed and leaned back against the desk. He could feel the stifling awkwardness brewing in between them again, but he chose to ignore it completely. More than once he felt Draco's sharp gaze on him, but still he feigned oblivion.

"Professor? I've stayed back, can I leave now-?"

_CRASH!_

There was a sound of breaking glass, and shards came scattering out of the door, causing his heart to jump and Draco to yell "Salazar!" Parvati, or Lavender he couldn't tell which - screamed.

"Professor?" he called warily.

Trelawney appeared round the doorway, hair disheveled, eyes wide as though she were in a trance. She walked towards them, but she didn't seem to have eyes for Draco - she only found him, and she held him in her wide-eyed gaze as she advanced, as though for an embrace. But when she opened her mouth, her voice became harsh, deeper. It sounded as if - as if she were possessed.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches… born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"

She continued to advance, hands poised as if to reach out to him. Harry stepped back, feeling unknown terror well up in him; it felt as though he were frozen on the spot. But her words, they were suddenly mesmerizing, so very mersmerizing…

"…the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…"

Power? An equal to… Voldemort?

"…and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives…"

Somewhere in the background he heard Draco yell something that sounded like his name, but he couldn't quite hear. All he knew was that Trelawney's trance, her voice, seemed be flowing all about him, ringing in his ears, and magic was seeping into him like water. Like a disease…

She finished in a hoarse whisper, leaning close, "…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."

At the same moment, Draco pushed him back, so he fell back into a chair, breathing heavily as if he'd run a marathon. When he looked up, he suddenly realized how close Trelawney and him had been - her hands were still outstretched as if to touch his shoulders - or to strangle him.

Trelawney seemed to wake up from her daze then, she shook her head and furrowed her brows as she scrutinized them both. For a moment, she frowned, taking in the scene, then she turned away, tutting.

"You really should learn to get along better," she said. "Such behavior in class is not tolerated! Detention with me next Friday, after dinner."

She turned and left, leaving half the class gaping in shock.

She was visibly shaking, though. Did she _know _what had transpired?

He could feel many questioning stares as the class exchanged looks - why did Trelawney single him out? What was that about anyway? - but before any of them could direct them at him, Harry quickly slipped out of the classroom, heading for the stairs. Before he managed to reach the winding staircase, he caught sight of Pansy standing by the door, holding onto Draco's arm as she phrased his question - "What was that about?"

"I don't know," Draco replied tersely. "I've said time and time again she's nuts, obviously… "

"She just made a bloody Prophecy about the Dark Lord!" hissed Pansy, her whisper growing harsh and loud, "and she said it right to Evander. It was a prophecy of him, it all makes sense - he's been different ever since his First Year -"

He heard Draco's voice cut across her, but he didn't want to listen anymore. He fled down the stairs and sprinted to the ground floor, an icy doubt in the bottom of his stomach. Could Pansy have been right? That he was indeed the Prophesized One?

But he wasn't born in July… his birthday was recorded as the 15th of August. He knew that was only the date he'd been taken in by the prphanage, and according to them it seemed like he had been born a few days prior… but he'd never known the actual date. Apparently his parents hadn't been wizards either, because according to Snape there were no records on his birth nor family name – Evander - in the wizarding world, nor in Gringotts. He'd get his supplies from the school fund each year.

But what if his parents had been wizards? What if he wasn't just some random abandoned Muggle kid that turned out to have magic? He had never thought to search of his family's history ever since he'd learnt that they weren't magical like him… but all of that had only been based on Snape's words. He never got to find out himself. What if Snape had been wrong?

Perhaps he'd go find Snape. The Potions Professor could always judge situations accurately… perhaps Trelawney had really gone nuts and spouted some drivel that didn't warrant his attention. Even if he didn't manage to convince himself, the thought seemed to calm him somewhat as he turned back to make his way to Snape's office.

However upon reaching the next corridor, he came face-to-face with Draco Malfoy. He gave the other a cold glance, trying to walk past him, but the Slytherin's fingers shot out to catch his wrist, the grip painfully tight. He looked up, sharp words forming on his tongue, but it died instantly on his lips at Draco's expression.

"Snape's not in there," Draco said, his voice sounding strained. "He's dead."

**A/N: As stated in my profile, I have withheld the publish of this story for quite some time, mainly because I didn't want to start something I won't finish. But after writing up to chapter 4 I felt like I needed more feedback for ideas and inspiration :D so here goes. Hope you enjoyed it, please tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you so much to my reviewers** _psychedelcLights, snivellusfan, G, warpwoofwimble, Jessica and all guests, **m**_**y wonderful source of inspiration :) and of course _BreathingStar _who once again helped me beta-read this chapter so thoroughly... Thank you so much! This chapter is dedicated to all you brilliant, inspiring people :P**

DISCLAIMER: Own nothing of Harry Potter. All things that are recognizable belongs to J. K. Rowling.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

He stared at Draco, the words spinning into a hundred different meanings and definitions in his head, yet he couldn't comprehend any of them.

"What?" he said numbly, almost certain he had misheard. But Draco's expression was tense, hard… forcefully keeping up an expressionless mask. He had always been able to tell.

"H-Hogsmeade was attacked," Draco continued in an oddly detached yet strained, voice. As if the moment he stopped pretending, his indifference would crack and he wouldn't be able to hold it in anymore. "Professor Snape was there… they said he was caught in the crossfire."

Harry looked at him, his heartbeat accelerating, thumping a flat hollow sound in his chest. Uncomprehending, disbelieving. It couldn't - it just _couldn't_ happen like that, so quickly, so suddenly, out of the blue. He was there the hour before, now he was gone. It didn't seem real.

He pushed past Draco into Snape's office all the same. It looked exactly the same as how it had been all those years, how it'd been just two nights before when he'd dropped by for a visit. Everything was neatly arranged and placed, save a messy scroll of parchment lying on the ornately carved wooden table, which happened to be a Potions essay… _his_ Potions essay.

He felt hollow. Wooden. Uncertain. And no, he still couldn't bring himself to believe it was real. Everything else looked just the way it had been, even the door was slightly ajar as if Snape would walk in swiftly anytime, robes billowing behind with a scary snarl on his face.

Draco behind him was just as lost as he was.

"Evander, Malfoy, back to your dorms now, please!"

He turned around. It was Professor McGonagall, wearing the same staff robes and a pointed hat, the one Snape privately made snarky comments about. But she looked… different. There were lines carved into her pale face, making her look even older than before, and her eyes were undoubtedly red and swollen. Her voice remained clipped, though.

It still wasn't real. It couldn't be.

"Where's Professor Snape?" he said, and he was surprised to find his voice was reduced to a croak, too. "I need to talk to him."

She only looked at him in a way that told him the worst.

"Professor Snape isn't in," she said softly, and the tears in her eyes told him the truth. "He won't be, anymore."

* * *

_**The Switch**_

* * *

Harry found himself standing in the school courtyard, almost a week from that day, staring numbly at cold gray stone as first snow drifted from the dark skies. Pansy had wailed and cried, Draco's eyes were red-rimmed the next day, and the rest of the students - even the Gryffindors - were subdued. But despite being one of the closest students - as close as a Gryffindor could be - to the Potions Master, he hadn't shed a tear, didn't feel anything at all. He was numbed, shocked; detached from everyone else.

"A brave man," they had said, "fallen performing his duty during the battle, caught in the line of fire… will always be remembered and cherished."

None of it made sense to him. It wasn't right; Snape's duty was as a Professor, teaching in Hogwarts. What on earth was he doing in the middle of Hogsmeade on a regular Tuesday? And why did the Dark Lord strike Hogsmeade on a weekday? Why not choose that particular weekend, when students would be roaming around the village, perfectly vulnerable to be captured as hostages and strike fear at the hearts of the remaining resistance? Why swoop in and raid the village all of a sudden?

The answer wasn't too hard to guess though; Voldemort favored surprise attacks. Everyone was on watch every weekend; Auror patrols and Ministry wards set up to protect the milling students from harm. The Dark Lord had swooped in and raided the village so quickly, leaving destruction and fear in his wake. It made the chilling fear grow; not being able to predict his moves, not knowing when they would be safe. It instilled uncertainty amongst them all… and wasn't that the foundation he needed to break the resistance apart? If he couldn't defeat the Light side by force, he'd plant seedlings, sow seeds of doubt, so that the more they grew, their ground would still be shaky.

But what was Snape doing there? He didn't need ingredients - all of them and more could be obtained from the Potions cupboard… he'd mentioned running 'errands' before, but what could they have been?

He no longer had answers, just increasing questions and an aching hollowness left in his chest, when he walked by the professor's door and nearly paused by to knock. After the Chamber of Secrets incident, the first person he'd actually talked to about it - barring Draco - had been Snape. He didn't know why; he never confided in anyone, but almost every time he'd end up revealing most of his problems to the Potions Professor. The man never had a kind word to offer, only snide remarks and witty sarcastic comments, but that just made everything better… he'd never liked pity.

The others often thought him strange - a Muggleborn who'd ended up being best friends with the Minister's son from Slytherin, and having Snape as his mentor. He'd saved the Philosopher's Stone from being stolen by Quirrell, who turned out to be a Death Eater working for Voldemort, saved Ginny Weasley from being possessed by Tom Riddle and killed the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. He'd been regarded as something like a prodigy, a hero, extraordinary.

He didn't feel anything like that anymore. Draco and him were nothing more than strangers now, if not enemies; he'd flunked all his grades except Potions, and now Professor Snape was dead.

Snape had a quiet burial at the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, not far from Hagrid's Hut. Apparently he had nowhere else to belong to, nowhere he'd felt at home except for Hogwarts, which was exactly how Harry himself felt about his school. It made him wonder just how much left there was about Snape that was undiscovered - the man had known practically his whole life story. When he had been miserable and confused about his abilities in the orphanage, Snape had been the first one take him out of the Muggle world, led him to magic. Tutored him, taught him at school.

Now only did he realize, everything, for all their meetings and talks - it had all revolved around him, and now that Snape was gone he realized just how little he knew about his professor.

It made him feel empty, as if he'd been stabbed without realizing it, just like when he'd fallen out with Draco two years back. But this time, it was ten times worse.

He turned around to leave.

Draco was heading his way, alone, a single white rose in hand. For a moment, he felt the sudden urge to step forwards and make himself known, but it faded as quickly as it had come. It was foolish thinking, after all.

He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and made a detour towards the direction of Hogwarts.

* * *

"Trelawney predicted it."

They were seated around the Common Room - Zabini, Rosier, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and Draco himself, staring numbly at the flickering ambers in the handsome marble fireplace licked hungrily at the timber, leaping up with sparks as it engulfed one after another.

"She knew it was going to happen," Pansy continued, even as her voice trembled. "She saw the Grim the moment Professor Snape d-died."

"Divination is just a load of trash," Zabini argued, sounding annoyed. "She had no way to know that. In any case, she saw a Grim in Draco's cup, not Professor Snape's."

"But Professor Snape is related to Draco," Pansy persisted.

"It's debatable that Snape is related to everyone in the school," Rosier cut in. The others immediately fell silent; aside from the Malfoys and the Blacks, Rosier were the name that carried much weight and power. The boy was in a year above them as well. "What interests me is the prophecy you mentioned… and how did word leak out to the press so quickly?"

It had been all over the headlines the next day, the Prophecy of the 'Chosen One' to defeat the Dark Lord. Of course, there was also an exclusive article by Rita Skeeter whom apparently had cornered Professor Trelawney during Snape's funeral at Hogwarts. In Trelawney's interview, she claimed to have predicted Snape's death by the symbol of the Grim in her crystal ball, and she claimed to have made the Prophecy 15 years ago. Apparently she had been sworn by penalty of death to never reveal the secret, but it had somehow 'leaked out' that day. "You cannot separate a Seer from a Prophecy," she added on an important note at the end of the interview, "you may withhold a Seer's secrets and delay its reveal, but it will always come true."

"Rita Skeeter is always lurking around," Pansy said, though the blush on her face gave her away. "She was bound to find out soon. And I tell you, the moment Trelawney shrieked about the Grim, Hogsmeade was under attack, I'm sure of it!"

Draco glanced up at the mention of the article, a cold, foreboding feeling creeping up his spine.

Trelawney hadn't seen the Grim the moment Snape had died. Instead, she revealed the Prophecy she'd 'sworn by death' to never do so.

Which only meant: Snape once had Trelawney under the Unbreakable Vow.

But why? Why would Snape go to such lengths to hide the Prophecy of a child that may overthrow the Dark Lord? Why did he not reveal it to Voldemort, to let his Lord search and eliminate the Chosen One once the child was born? Now the prophecy had been revealed 15 years later, the Chosen One would no longer be a helpless infant, but a grown wizard with powers at his or her disposal.

It wouldn't take too long for the others to figure it out, he knew. It was painfully obvious, and he guessed Harr- Evander had probably pieced together the puzzle himself by now.

And that meant that the Dark Lord would be actively hunting for the Chosen One as well.

* * *

_**The Switch**_

* * *

"A prophecy made 17 years ago," a voice mused, echoing all around the dark high-ceilinged chambers. "…yet we knew nothing of it."

"It was revealed by one Sybil Trelawney who calls herself a Seer, on the day of the Hogsmeade raid, my lord," Lucius continued, voice hoarse. "According to Draco she seemed to suddenly have a fit of seizure, before acting as though she were possessed when she spoke of the prophecy."

"She might be a true Seer then," Voldemort said, his tone light, but Lucius could hear the underlying tension in his voice. If the Prophecy were true, the Chosen One had to be found and taken care of at once.

"But I find Severus' coincidental death more fascinating," the Dark Lord continued, rising up to pace slowly around his chamber. Lucius remained silent with his head bowed even though he was confused. What coincidence? Snape had been hit by a stray Killing Curse while ducking another blow - he'd seen man he'd regarded as a good friend go down, was the one who dragged the man upright yelling his name over and over, temporarily forgetting his position as a damned puppet Minister, and that the public was staring. Forgetting about the battle and his mission behind it.

"Why did he want to hide it from me?" Voldemort continued slowly, phoenix wand twirled in between pale long fingers. "He had always been loyal to my cause… always… the only woman he'd ever wanted to me spare was found dead after the Godric's Hollow massacre. 17 years ago… Lucius, did the Potters ever have a child?"

He startled slightly at the abrupt question. "N-No, my lord, I believe not. The Potters went into hiding as the rest of the Order did when they were temporarily disbanded, so we lost all leads about them for a year or so, but surely news of the birth of a child of such high-born status would have leaked out somehow. In any case none of them survived the raid; I highly doubt a newborn infant could survive the battle, my lord."

"Your reasoning sounds convincing," the Dark Lord said with a marginal tilt of his head, "but is insufficient to appease me."

"I will do my best to investigate the matter, my lord," Lucius spoke somewhat hurriedly; he hadn't still been able to forget the utter rage he'd incurred from the Dark Lord from losing the Horcrux diary. He got the feeling the Dark Lord was subtly reminding him of the incident as well.

To make matters worse he'd been trying to cover up the fact, before the release of Slytherin's beast became known, and word spread that an upstart Second Year Harry Evander andhis son had slain the beast and rescued a Gryffindor girl. He hadn't realized the significance of that diary but as an artifact of Dark magic that nearly cost him his wife, not until he'd forced the story out of his son and learnt about it being a piece of soul magic. Of the Dark Lord's split soul.

In order to save Draco from the Dark Lord's wrath he'd immediately severed all ties of his son to Evander, make it seem that Evander was behind the whole thing and Draco had just been mindlessly following without comprehending the damage he'd inflict, nor the Light Side he had unconsciously aided. He'd even gone as far as storming into the school, forcefully extracting a promise from Draco. All to protect his son from the dangers of the path he'd chosen and taken.

"Your son, Lucius," the Dark Lord said suddenly, causing Lucius to freeze. Had he used Legilimency against him? His heart gave a painful squeeze. Not Draco, not Draco.

"He is young, isn't he? In his Fourth Year, I presume?"

"Yes, my lord."

"The same age as the 'Chosen One'…" the Dark Lord's lip curled, in mirthless amusement. "Which makes him even better a candidate… he is not born in July, I assume?"

"January, my lord," Lucius said shakily. The tremor of his voice was ill-concealed.

"Excellent," Voldemort said. "Bring your son to the meeting 2 weeks from today. I have a special service required for him to perform… and I think it's about time he learnt to walk in his father's footsteps."

Lucius' breath jarred in his chest, heart beating an agonizing, wild beat against his ribcage. He couldn't bring himself to nod even if he knew he ought to, the words 'yes my lord' frozen on his tongue, only echoing and heard in his terrified mind.

"If he performs well, I'll forget about his past disappointments," the Dark Lord continued softly, "and perhaps, it'll be time for him to earn his Mark."

* * *

"I think Harry's the Chosen One," Ron said to Dean at breakfast the next day. "I mean, who else can it be? He saved the Stone from that filthy Death- Eater when he was only a First Year, and slain a Basilisk _and _saved my sister in our Second. He's already thwarted You-Know-Who twice!"

Similar conversations were passed round the Great Hall, like they had been ever since that day. Harry pretended to be completely oblivious to the increasingly ridiculous rumors circulating him and instead focused on the piece of toast before him. He had other things to worry about - namely his lightning bolt scar. He'd always assumed that it was his imagination, or passed it off as a migraine, but ever since last year it'd gradually got worse and worse.

What if it really was his scar hurting? What if Madam Pomfrey had been right, and there was some residual Basilisk venom or dark magic left behind?

"Harry's born in mid-_August _Ron," Hermione's disapproving voice chided in the background, "at least have the decency to stop encouraging these ridiculous rumors if you can't even remember his birthday."

_Thank you Hermione. _At least one of them had sense.

"Aside from the birth date everything else fits," Ron argued.

"Harry's parents were both Muggles, and much as I'm sure they were amazing," she said, chancing an apprehensive look at Harry- "I don't think they fit the description of '_defying the Dark Lord' _three times."

"Very true," Harry agreed, taking another bite of his toast, feigning complete nonchalance despite the uncertainty churning in his gut.

What if his parents had both been magical?

And: despite popular belief, August 15th wasn't his real birthday at all.

They had Transfiguration directly after breakfast, so there was no time for him to ponder over the problem. However it was with a heavy heart that he trooped into the classroom behind Hermione, and sat back in his customary seat the furthest end from the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco take his at the last row right beside the backdoor so he could be the first to leave.

There was still detention with Trelawney on Friday to dread, and the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match had been postponed from last week to this Wednesday. While he loved the sport, Gryffindor-Slytherin matches were most pressurizing; not only did the house rivalry run in deep, he'd heard that they'd gotten a damned better Seeker than Terrence Higgs, which diminished his confidence a little. At least with Higgs around, _he_ would definitely be the one controlling the endgame. And on top of that, the nonsensical gossip about him that had died down a year ago seemed to flair up once more in alarming ferocity, as if they'd gotten back their prize miller to keep the gossip wheel spinning. Mostly it was about him being the Prophesized One everyone was searching for. None of them seemed to remember - or perhaps they didn't want to be reminded - that his birthday was mid-August.

Just because Trelawney had spoken the Prophecy to him, it made _him _the Chosen One. He would try to tell them that it was just a pure streak of bad luck, but then they would just recount his duel against Quirrel or the Chamber of Secrets incident to match up the facts.

At least the attention used to be divided between him and Draco. Now the entire intensity of it was on him, and it made him feel uncomfortable and hence, irritable.

"Today you will be learning to transfigure living creatures into inanimate objects," McGonagall began. "Each of you will begin with a different animal, and you will be required to transfigure them into goblets. Once the correct technique has been mastered, it can be applied to various different organisms."

She waved her wand, making a complicated swooping gesture before bringing it down in a flurry of sparks. Immediately an ugly black rat appeared before Ron, and a white hamster sat docilely on Hermione's desk. Harry took one look at the small white- faced ferret before him and chortled.

Across the class, his eyes snapped to Draco before he could help it, and he found the other glaring daggers at his desk, indignant. He looked away, uncertain, the smile slipping off his face. There was a strange hollow feeling gnawing at his heart, but he ignored it.

"When you've managed to turn them into goblets, you will be focusing on performing the spells on different animals, and perhaps even design your goblets," McGonagall continued as she charmed a chalk to write the textbook page number on the blackboard. "The difficulty level will get increasingly harder depending on the size of organism and the material quality of your goblet. You may now begin."

Harry stared at the ferret, which was beginning to panic and ran in circles round his desk.

Others, it was difficult to remember; sometimes… it was just harder to forget.

* * *

The days sped past to the fourth morning of the week, which dawned clear and bright.

It wasn't snowing, hadn't ever since Snape's funeral, but it was cold all the same. The temperature had taken a drastic plunge over the span of the last few days, and now it was hovering uncertainly over subzero.

Hermione had taken measures to cast Heating Charms all over his gloves, cloak and boots to shield him from most of the biting chill, and there was a water- repellant charm on his glasses as well, just in case it rained. By the looks of things it seemed that it was more probable for them to be caught in snow, though.

"Flatten them mate," Ron said with a friendly thump on his shoulder. Harry returned the grin. They'd gotten along much better ever since Ron's 180 degree attitude change towards him due to the Chamber of Secrets incident, and perhaps his falling out with Draco had encouraged the process - but there was just something about the redhead that just made him feel comfortable. Like he could talk freely and be unafraid of offending Ron because even if he was quick to anger, he was equally quick to forget.

He heard many more comments and encouragements as he made his way down to the Pitch, things like, "Wipe out the slimy Slytherins, just the way to start the first match of the season! No pressure!" or "Slam the new Seeker off his broom with a Bludger!"

He felt like pointing out that he was a Seeker, not a Beater- and in any case, it would be considered a foul, but then he just accepted it with a nod.

He was one of the last to arrive, his Nimbus 2000 slung over his shoulder. They changed into their Quidditch robes while Fred and George cracked jokes to annoy Angelina, who was clearly nervous as her first match as Captain. Then their new Captain gave a brief but equally motivating version of Wood's usual prep- talk before they walked out into the pitch. It gave them a sense of familiarity somehow, as they punched their fists into the air and roared in agreement with infectious spirit at almost everything she said without much of it actually registering. It was as if Wood's presence hadn't yet left despite his graduation. The entire team knew their legendary Captain anyway.

When he walked out into the arena, it was already crowded with cheering students. In front of him, he felt Angelina stiffen visibly before muttering under her breath, "Look who's Slytherin's new Seeker."

He let his gaze roam over the figures in silver and green, before freezing on a familiar blonde figure walking confidently into the pitch.

"Draco bloody Malfoy," he heard Fred or George say. "And look, Daddy's gotten him a wicked _Firebolt."_

Harry glanced down at the Nimbus in his hands and turned the handle around - it had faded considerably with time, but the silver letters etched into wood were still visible: _Draco Lucius Malfoy. _

X

Even if Draco wasn't using the fastest broom model available on the market, Harry had always known that he was an exceptionally good flyer.

Back then when they'd played against each other, Draco had been dastardly fast; it was just that the Slytherin had too high a sense of preservation to perform useful but dangerous stunts to catch the Snitch for what he called, 'an insignificant game'.

It seemed as though all such reservations were now thrown out of the window.

It had been ten minutes since the blaring of the whistle, and Draco had performed many self- sacrificial stunts to distract the Gryffindor Chasers, though he'd always been able to swerve out of the way at the last second before the Weasleys' furious Bludger came hurtling at him. It was currently a close score 60- 70 to Slytherin, and Harry was scanning the ground urgently for a glint of gold. It hadn't even been half into 30 minutes, and both Houses had been awarded fouls and penalties. He needed to end this quickly.

The weather wasn't helping much, icy wind was buffering him from all sides. While it was refreshing and simultaneously awakening, it through his broom slightly off course, and there were times when he needed to wrestle against nature when he fought to move in the opposite direction.

Draco didn't seem to be having such problems; the Slytherin Seeker was zooming at an incredible speed across the Pitch, occasionally putting in bursts just for the fun of it. Harry guessed he was probably enjoying all the attention from the screaming crowd.

Suddenly, he felt something whizz past him - the tell-tale fluttering of wings. Immediately he took off for the Snitch, zooming in for a nose- dive, uncaring whether he sent players scooting the other direction - Gryffindor or Slytherin alike. Behind him, he could tell Draco was closing in fast, Firebolt pulled into a steep vertical dive, careening through the air. He lifted a hand from the handle, fingers outstretched to swallow the small golden sphere into his palm. It was floating tantalizingly near, barely out of reach…

In his utter concentration, he'd lost focus of what was happening all around him. He didn't notice the crowd scream in horror, nor the swarming sea of black spreading rapidly into the Pitch. He didn't realize the sheer drop in temperature, the icicles forming crystals on his Nimbus. He didn't realize he was diving, heading straight into the sea of Dementors, until he felt a sense of fear and helplessness crush at his heart, and decaying fingers reached out to grasp at him, catch him. The glint of gold had disappeared.

He was dimly aware of his scar bursting into unimaginable pain, and then he was back in the Chamber, watching as the Basilisk fang rip into his forearm, pinning the Horcrux diary to his flesh. He thought it was Riddle screaming, before he realized that it was him. Excruciating agony tearing into his body, fiery venom eating into his bone… watching as Draco was flung away, as the roil of Dark magic hit the Slytherin square on his right collarbone. Roar of thunder- crushing- pain. Blood, blood was everywhere- a voice chanting like a demonic howl in the background- then darkness.

* * *

"Harry?"

"He's awake!" someone noted excitedly.

"Harry can you hear me?"

"Someone get Madam Pomfrey!"

He had been pretty certain that he'd been bitten in his _arm, _so why was he aching all over?

"Don't let him move!" a more authoritative voice snapped. "Hold his leg still, Mr. Weasley."

His leg? Oh. He'd been near the edge of the bed. A cause for alarm seeing as he was a patient, he supposed.

He didn't want to open his eyes. He could already tell what had happened- they'd lost the first match of the season against the _Slytherins _and he'd ended up in the Hospital Wing once more.

Even so, his choice to stay put and feign unconsciousness was rudely taken out of his hands when Madam Pomfrey pried up his eyelids to check his vitals. On reflex he twitched away, and at the foot of his bed he heard a voice note excitedly "He really is awake! Finally!"

Finally? How long had he been out?

He cracked open his eyes, wincing as bright light from the windows seared his retinas. Someone, Hermione he presumed- immediately drew the curtains around his bed. He could barely make out the tall figure at the edge of his bed until his glasses were pressed against the bridge of his nose, and he could see properly again. It was Ron, and Hermione standing beside, both with concerned expressions of their faces. Hermione was worse though, it was clear that there were tears in her eyes when she flung herself at him for a hug, though she was careful to be gentle.

"You could have died," Ron croaked, by way of explanation at his completely bewildered expression. "You fell off the broom in the middle of the sky, with a swarm of Dementors beneath you."

The scene rushed back to meet him with awful clarity. But the first thing he could think of was, "We lost, didn't we?"

Ron grimaced. "240 to 90."

"How could you still be concerned about _Quidditch?" _said Hermione, sounding as if she were bordering on hysterical. "We all thought you wouldn't have survived. Professor Dumbledore came running out seconds later, he casted the Patronus to dispel the Dementors. It was only after they cleared out when we could see your b-body in the middle of the p-pitch…"

Harry could tell she was about to burst into tears again. "What were Dementors doing here?" he said quickly, more to change the topic. "I thought they weren't allowed on Hogwarts grounds?"

"The Ministry placed them here for _protection,_" she spat, getting agitated again at the mention of the incident. "Said it was to guard the students and staff from the Azkaban escapee Bartemius Crouch. I know word spread that he'd escaped five years ago, but it was only recently that they detected any activity from him… they suspect him to be on Hogwarts grounds, hence the Dementors. They were to administer the Kiss once they found him, but Professor Dumbledore was furious and he banned them all from nearing Hogwarts anymore."

"You should've seen the article the next day, the Minister's 'rage' when he found out the Dementors 'nearly attacked' his son who was nearby," Ron interjected. "He launched into some long speech about 'appropriate measures for safety' and 'sacking irresponsible Ministerial officials' for supposed 'incompetency'. As if he hadn't planned the entire debacle himself!"

"I highly doubt the Minister wanted the Dementors in Hogwarts as well," Hermione said doubtfully, "His son's safety would be jeopardized, and you know how he'd react to that. I think he only meant for them to guard around Hogsmeade, just for show- but they lost control of the Dementors and they came storming into the Quidditch pitch in search of lively souls." She shuddered before adding, "that's what Professor Dumbledore said anyway."

Harry nodded absently, taking it all in before a sudden thought occurred to him, "Hang on, how long has it been since I was unconscious? And where's my broom?"

He saw Ron and Hermione exchange looks, and the coil of dread in the pit of his stomach tightened.

"It's been a week since you were out, Harry," Hermione said in a gentle sort of voice, though it was evident from her apprehensive expression that she wasn't keen to break the news. "And your broom… it was blown off by the strong wind and - oh Harry, it hit the Whomping Willow."

**A/N: Reviews please? :P A simple 'Great' or 'Nahh' would do me good too!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so very much to all the reviewers for your support, ideas and thoughts, I really really appreciate them! :) My inbox is like a Christmas present :P **

DISCLAIMER: Everything recognizable belongs to J. K. Rowling as usual.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Twigs and splinters, that was what that was left of his broom.

He was behaving irrationally again, but he didn't throw away the broken pieces Ron had retrieved for him. He put them in a box and stored it beneath his bed. Maybe he'd find a spell to repair it, stronger than any _Reparo…_ maybe Zonko's All-Purpose-Sticky-Glue might do the trick. If only he knew how to recreate the enchantments on the broom, his Nimbus was still salvageable.

It had been his first broom, his only one.

Ron and Hermione had exchanged 'the look' again before allowing him to do as he pleased. At least they were happy that his injuries were healing quickly and he'd be out of the Hospital Wing by the next day. He couldn't be more grateful for them - they hadn't been particularly close before last year, but now they hovered by his bedside and visited him every day, even updating him on all the things he missed out on - (Hermione was particularly enthusiastic in presenting him his homework). Apparently the staff had hired an old professor whom had taught at Hogwarts decades prior, Professor Horace Slughorn to take over the Potions Master's duties.

When he finally returned to Gryffindor Tower though, Harry realized that the gossip mill had taken a worse turn. Apparently the Gryffindors were of the idea that Draco had been close enough to push him off the broom to catch the Snitch. Even the most rational explanation would be that Draco had seen Harry diving into the sea of Dementors, let him fall, and take the victory for himself when the Snitch shot back up. There wasn't anything Harry could fault with that, seeing as it was probably true, but it just made the rest of his House curse the Slytherin Seeker all the more.

He didn't know why, but it grated against his nerves every time they brought it up. Sure, of course he'd let him fall. What did they expect? Draco to save him out of the skies? Out of sympathy? Old times' sake? That would've probably been worse!

That night after dinner, he went back to the old balcony overlooking the Black lake just to avoid all of them. His head felt heavy and something was pounding harshly against the inside of his brain. And he didn't want to hear any more opinions the school population had about him, Draco or the both of them.

He walked up the second flight of stairs and arrived before the classroom door. He was just about to reach for the well- worn handle when he heard footsteps closing by.

Not quite sure why he was doing this, he ducked into the shadows instinctively, snapping up a Notice-Me-Not Charm as he did. It wasn't exactly after curfew yet, but wandering around deserted corridors at this time of the day might draw suspicion.

The disused classroom door clicked open. From the inside.

Quietly, his eyes followed the figure out of the classroom till he disappeared at the end of the corridor, and the dark shadows swallowed him whole.

Five minutes later, he finally ventured out of his hiding place and crawled through the broken window panel. He landed lightly on the old balcony, breathing in the clean night air with the lake stretched out before him, as always. The night was silent but for the faraway whispers of the crickets.

Still, there was a little bitterness in his smile when he noted the odd familiarity of the place; neatly arranged chairs, the sparkling clean floor.

* * *

**_The Switch_**

* * *

He crossed paths with the Slytherins the very next day.

They were on their way back from Charms, and Hermione had already left for Arithmancy. As soon as he saw the green- and- silver clad robes, he immediately tried to steer the other way- not that he was afraid or anything, he just wanted to avoid more troubling incidents. As if there wasn't enough on his plate!

Typically Crabbe was first to speak as they walked past the corridor. "Look, the Mudblood orphan is finally out of his coma," he said in a snide voice.

He felt more than saw Draco turn around and give him a sideway glance. "Disappointing, isn't it?" the elder Slytherin remarked in an offhand way.

Beside him, he could feel Ron bristle, preparing to rise to his defense, but he jerked his friend away roughly. "You didn't hear anything," he said in a calm voice. "and you will keep _walking."_

"240 to 90!" Nott, too, joined in, a vicious smile on his face. "Boo to Gryffindor!"

"I suppose that's something damned well to be proud of," Ron spat back at them, ignoring Harry completely, "seeing as that was the only way for you to have beaten Harry."

"Ron…" Harry started, but Draco stopped in his tracks and turned around, a cold smile playing on his lips. Harry felt his heart sink. Now even Malfoy wanted to be involved. Usually the other didn't explicitly go looking for trouble, his being the Minister's son and all that- but today he had no such luck. Just _brilliant._

"My my, I think we have some _hard feelings _between us," Draco drawled, coming to a halt when he was inches from the redhead's face. "Perhaps, as rumours have it, you think I sabotaged your Seeker? Or perchance you were hoping I would save your precious _friend… _but tell me, what would I have to gain from saving a Muggleborn?"

Ron made to draw his wand; probably would have, but his hand froze on the way to his pocket. Draco continued to smile as he twirled his wand and leaned closer to whisper in Ron's ear, "I was merely doing us all a favour."

It was pure mockery and they knew it; Draco being the Minister's son wasn't encouraged to give biased views in public. It was an insult to the Weasleys as well, a subtle way of hinting that their social status was as such that even their testament would be disregarded. Harry had the feeling that Ron hadn't quite even realized that he was being insulted. He wouldn't have, either, if not for his close association with a particular Slytherin years back.

"The favour is much appreciated," Harry cut in, his patience snapping. His wand was drawn too, and aimed right at the other.

Grey eyes shifted to meet his, but Draco didn't release Ron's appendage from his Petrifying spell. Behind Draco, all four Slytherins raised their wands against Harry in unison.

"I hope to be able to return it some day," he continued with a smile, but it was cold. Still the other refused to concede. He flicked his wand and Ron's hand came free. The redhead reacted immediately, drawing a punch, but Draco stepped neatly to the side. The blow caught him slightly on the jaw, though.

"_Serpe- " _began Nott, a curse glowing at the tip of his wand, but Draco said sharply, "Don't."

Harry took the opportunity to grab Ron and steer his friend forcefully away.

The other's gaze was still trained on him with full intensity. Harry could tell there was anger simmering beneath the calm, charming façade, but he pretended not to notice.

"Till then," he said lightly, inclining his head.

"_Eat dung, Malfoy!" _Ron swore, somewhere to his right.

Draco barely blinked. Just watched him leave, his furious gaze burning holes in his back.

He thought a caught something flash across the other's features though, like a flitting shadow gone in a heartbeat. Whatever it was, it hadn't been hurt.

* * *

**_The Switch_**

* * *

Weeks into the disastrous Quidditch match, life at Hogwarts continued on normally.

The Ministry had removed the Dementors from the school premises, and they were only allowed to roam the streets of Hogsmeade after curfew. Reports so far indicated no more sightings of Bartemius Crouch Jr., though there were still Auror patrols twice every few days. On the surface everything else went on smoothly, but for the looming threat of Voldemort's impending reign hanging over Britain.

At school, the topic revolved keenly about the Chosen One. He'd hoped that the rumours about the barmy Prophecy would die down after a week or so, but it didn't. Harry suspected it had something to do with the Daily Prophet. Word said that the Ministry was looking for the Prophesized One too, supposedly for his own safety. The Gryffindors had scoffed at that. Harry was thankful, however, that however rampant the speculations about him may run, he still had his last trump card- which was his birthday month - to deny them. He couldn't deign to imagine what they would do if he really had been born in end of July.

Soon it was Slytherin's match against the Ravenclaws.

It would be the last match of Quidditch before December, where they would be returning for their Christmas holidays. Even though Gryffindor wasn't playing, Harry never missed a match; he'd turn up along with the Weasleys at the stands to cheer for whichever team that was not Slytherin. It was only when both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw played against each other that Lee Jordan's commentary could be accepted as unbiased.

He wasn't quite sure how he felt about Draco playing though. Often when the Slytherins were on the match, he'd find his eyes seeking out the familiar blonde figure, as if unconsciously searching the well-concealed pain behind the cocky smiles and daring moves. Was it because he'd known? Or had Draco really recovered?

"…and now the Quaffle is in Abel's possession," Lee Jordan said, wand with the Sonorus Charm in hand, "nice pass to Peakes, Peakes to Gretel - …yes, it's neglected - aim for the first hoop, first - _argh!" _A foul word slipped from Lee Jordan's tongue before McGonagall, who was also watching- managed to wrestle it from him. It seemed as though she was there solely for the reason of limiting the amount of obscenities Lee Jordan broadcasted all over the pitch.

Draco had swerved right in the middle of them, cutting through the players at the last minute when Gretel was about to shoot the goal. As a result Gretel tried to aim for the second hoop but Montague, who had been guarding the middle well swooped up and caught it neatly.

Despite everything, Harry still felt a grin tug at his lips when he saw Draco's bordering-on-idiotic-self-satisfied smirk.

The game continued in a similar fashion, the Slytherin Seeker intercepting whenever he could, while Cho Chang the Ravenclaw Seeker hunted desperately for a sign of the Snitch. Slytherin was leading 70-40 once more; it seemed like the only way for Ravenclaw to win was for Chang to catch the Snitch. Things weren't looking good though; the skies had darkened considerably and it looked like it was going to rain.

"And I think the Ravenclaw Seeker has spotted something!" Lee Jordan crowed, amplifying his voice over the beginnings of what seemed like would be a torrential downpour. "Get it Chang!"

Beside him the other spectators were snapping up umbrellas or rising to leave the crowd. Harry felt a sharp sting against his cheek before he realized that it was actually rain. It wasn't snowing, but the rain was bitingly cold.

He raised his wand to cast a Charm, but quite suddenly something seemed to wrench him skywards. He looked at Ron in alarm, opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but then his redheaded friend just gave him a sideway glance and resumed his gaze at the pitch, cheering loudly for Ravenclaw. He felt panic grip him, but the invisible force tugged on him relentlessly, until he felt _his feet leave ground_.

Why was no one looking at him?

Why didn't anyone notice that he was _floating?!_

The roaring of the rain and crowd fell into a dead buzz in his ears, he felt a great pressure surrounding him like he was being compressed into a tube. The scene before him began to swim like a hazy picture. Surely it wasn't a side effect of Mind Arts? He'd stopped practicing it ever since that night! But why couldn't he breathe? He wasn't coming down with a seizure of some sort was he? -

Just when he felt his lungs were about to burst, his eyes shot open, and the jarred breath in his chest let loose into a half-formed "aaah!"

He breathed in and out, trying to control the rapid, almost painful thumping of his heart. In, out. In, out. It had been over almost as soon as it started, but he was left with a slight dizziness as he blinked and looked around.

Then he realized just _where _he was. He was fifty feet above ground, and on _a broom. A Firebolt. _

He blinked, noting the sleek, elegant handle, the vibrating energy of the enchantments on it. The broom he had _dreamed of. _The broom he had been watching and scrutinizing with his face pressed against glass for 10 whole minutes. What was happening?

"GET IT!" someone howled in his ear.

He looked around and blinked again. It was Blaise. Zabini Blaise, Captain of Slytherin team… why was he yelling at him? Get what?

"_GET THE SNITCH!" _Blaise roared, losing his patience completely. He looked just about tense enough to launch himself of his broom and shake Harry, but they weren't close enough.

The Snitch? Harry looked around confusedly. Why would there be a Snit -

Something light fluttered against his cheek and he reached out to swipe it. Instantly he recognized the gentle flittering sound, and he turned around sharply, noting the swiftness of his broom. 'Not just any broom, but _A Firebolt_!' his excited mind reminded him. He was riding a Firebolt to catch a Snitch?

If this was a dream, it really was a good one.

The Snitch zoomed past him, heading towards the ground with incredible speed. He felt the thrill of the chase seize him once more, and almost on autopilot- he plunged into a steep dive, aiming right for it. Wind howled and whipped his hair against his face like its wild, crazy nature would- the icy pelts of rain stung him every time they hit his back. He barely felt any of it. Ahead the ground was looming up closer and closer at an alarming pace, but the sheer thrill of it was _exhilarating_, so wonderfully refreshing. Well, he would be able to put the Firebolt to the test anyway…

In the space of a millisecond the Snitch swooped down, skimming the grass before shooting up once more, rebounding slightly like he knew it would. He reached out his hand, leaning far off his broom with only his legs on the Firebolt to support him, snatched it cleanly out of the air. His other hand jerked roughly upwards at the same time, and the Firebolt obeyed him instantly, leaving him hovering safely barely a metre off ground, Snitch caught, triumphant in his hands.

He savoured the feeling for a moment as the crowd roared, louder than thunder, and Lee Jordan's swearing about Wronski Feint filled the stadium.

He heard something about "mimicry" and his name, something about being the "only one to have ever performed the Wronski Feint successfully in recent year matches". He grinned, his heart still thumping wildly from the adrenaline. Even if he wasn't sure what was happening, it sure felt good, he thought.

That was, before the biggest shock yet occurred.

When he looked around again, the entire Slytherin team came _hurtling _at him. Automatically he tried to duck, but before he'd even managed it, they had swept him up into a crushing _hug._

_A hug! _He was being _hugged _by _Slytherins!_

What on earth was this? He tried to push himself away, but then a sharp jolt of pain stabbed him in his right collarbone. He let out a gasp of pain, but they didn't seem to notice. What were they _doing? _This was bloody creepy, especially by Slytherin standards. Why were all of them determined to hug him?

The agony stabbed at him again, and his hand flew to his right shoulder, teeth clenched to hold back the painful hiss that threatened to leave his lips. No one was hurting his shoulder deliberately, so why was the pain so severe? It felt like his bone was splintering, as if –

As if a curse was tearing through it.

Then right at that moment, he knew.

In his mind's eye he saw Riddle's curse soar and hit Draco square on his right collarbone. He saw the young Slytherin crash painfully into the wall behind, saw the blood pooling around the wound even as his friend raised his good hand to throw him the diary. Watched as his friend's dreams crashed into reality and dissolved into nothingness. All because he'd followed him behind.

This wasn't his body at all.

_He was Draco Malfoy._

X

He delayed going back to the Common Room with 'his' Slytherin teammates, opting instead to dawdle in the changing room until most of the crowd had left. The Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were leaving with disappointed expressions on their faces; it had been Slytherin's second win within two months, all because they had Draco Malfoy (with the Firebolt) on their team. It seemed as though Slytherin was in the lead for the Quidditch House Cup once more.

He slipped behind the broom shack and hid in the shadows, waiting to catch Draco. He could make out his own figure making his way down the stands with Hermione and Ron in tow. By the hard, set expression on his face, he presumed Draco had also figured out what had happened.

It was bizarre all the same, watching himself walk towards him, who was not actually him. Now that was confusing.

He waited for a moment as the trio neared him, hesitating for a moment before reluctantly putting his fingers to his lips and blew a short, bird- like whistle. He hadn't done it for years; it was barely audible above the rainfall. For a moment he thought the other hadn't heard him, but then emerald green eyes snapped up, alert, before meeting his gaze evenly.

"I'll see you guys in a moment," Draco said swiftly to Hermione and Ron, though he didn't look back at them. "I left something at the stands."

Hermione gave him a strange look, before shrugging. She and Ron left soon after, the redhead's offer to go back and search with him deaf to his ears.

Draco pretended to walk back in that direction, but he soon disappeared into the changing room. Harry waited a moment before slipping in after that.

He came face-to-face with himself.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was looking right back at his own reflection, he didn't feel the electric- tension that compelled him to look away from his former friend-turned-enemy. Instead he stared, almost disbelieving, despite his initial correct presumption of what had happened.

"We really switched," Harry said a tad unnecessarily, more to break the silence growing between them.

Draco rolled his eyes. Harry noted the familiar 'you don't say' sneer on his lips with growing distaste. "_Obviously," _Draco said, though it lacked the usual venom in his voice. "I would've at least expected a more intelligent question, say: _how the hell _did this happen?"

He refused the urge to say 'Draco Malfoy just swore' and focused on the problem at hand. "I would think a more useful question would be: how do we change back?"

"It can't have been a spell," Draco continued, beginning to pace, agitated. "It would've required the caster to fire it at us at the same time, which was not probable and risky seeing as I was a moving target."

"An enchantment," Harry supplied quietly. "Cast and activated."

Draco stopped and gritted his teeth in annoyance. "That could be anything. Food, drinks, air, general needs everyone shares, but us as the specific target."

"We could tell the professors," Harry said, though at the last word there was a sharp pang in his heart. "They - they could help, somehow."

Draco must've guessed what he was thinking, for the other's expression hardened. "There isn't one I'd trust," he said, bitterly.

"We can't do this ourselves Malfoy," Harry said tiredly, rubbing his face with his good hand; his right shoulder was still throbbing even though it had faded into a dull ache.

Draco gave a mirthless laugh. "It's funny to hear that from the Golden boy," he said with a sneer, "Seeing as far as I recall, he always liked to do things _on his own."_

"That's funny too, seeing as you were the one who taught me a lesson," he said bluntly.

"Ever a lion," Draco said softly, but his tone turned a shade colder. "You realize you're being hypocritical, did you know that?"

"I don't want to argue with you," Harry said sharply, "aside from leaving more scars there's no more to it. You've proved your point before, I've proved mine. I'm here to find a solution to this, that's all."

The silence from the past year seemed to stretch until then, falling unbroken and heavy between both, save the dull thudding of the rain. He looked away.

"We'll look for the answer tonight," Draco said at last, in flat monotone as he turned to face the door. "For the next few hours, we'll have to fake it out."

* * *

**_The Switch_**

* * *

Pansy sat by the fireplace eagerly as she waited for Draco to return.

Truth was it had started out as a political sort of advantage that compelled her to draw closer to the young heir, but she soon found that Malfoy was as close to perfection as he could be. He had high political and social standing, not solely because of Lucius who was Minister- but his top grades and performances in school ranked him the top dog of their House. The incidents for the last few years weren't quite favourable in the Dark Lord's cause, but it had painted him an image of a hero, which made the public love him all the more, and their disbelief that the Malfoy family could ever be _Dark_ only grew.

There were many good reasons why she should be acquainted with him… she only wished he'd be a bit more open. He'd been fine when he'd first started to hang out with the Slytherins like he should, instead of sticking around with the Muggleborn orphan from Gryffindor… but he'd close up whenever Evander's name was brought up. And when she persisted in knowing more of the details - who _didn't _want to? - he'd forgone social etiquette he'd maintained for the sake of their families and given her the cold shoulder.

It didn't stop her from hovering around though. She wouldn't give up a prize like that so simply; one could always hope.

"Malfoy's heading back!" someone called. "Quick set up the banners."

There was a flurry of movement as a few others sprang up to set the finishing touches in place; then the door clicked open.

Draco walked in, his prized Firebolt slung carelessly over his shoulder, eyes roaming across the Slytherin Common Room as if assessing. But he looked _different, _somehow. Where he'd always stood erect to radiate the illusion of confidence and superiority, now he was almost slouching, and he _dragged his feet _when he walked. Her brows furrowed for the briefest moment as she watched the figure across the room, before her eyes softened. He was probably exhausted after the match; she couldn't blame him.

Almost immediately after that the Common Room erupted in cheers, and Draco was lost to her sight. An elegant banner fell majestically from the ceiling, elegant green and silver silk with a huge golden snitch hovering in the middle. Butterbeer, sweets and pastries were passed all around while the Slytherins followed their turns to shower the boy with congratulatory remarks. It was hierarchy all over again, nothing about Slytherin was done by equality. The Parkinsons weren't wealthy purebloods, but they were influential and had wide connections nevertheless, thus placing her third or fourth ranking in their year.

There was a fixed smile on Draco's face when she approached. He was holding his drink, fingers tightly clasped around glass and nodding politely at those who approached him, but Pansy could see that he was tense. His eyes kept sweeping across the room frequently as if fervently searching, sub- consciously gauging exits. He acted like a prey prepared to flee, and the weak were always swept and devoured the instant they showed their nature. But why would _Draco_ feel vulnerable? He was a Malfoy, he was automatically ranked above them all. His victory in the Quidditch match only served to further boost his popularity… yet it was evident from the tautness in his muscles and the clipped smile that he wasn't in his element at all.

It was strange, if not bordering on worrying.

"Your stunt was most impressive," she said with a light smile as she approached, sidling closer. "I didn't think you would pull it off."

He looked up, grey eyes vaguely distracted and offered her a cordial smile. "Thank you Miss Parkinson," he said. "Your congratulations are much appreciated."

It seemed like he was memorizing off a script; Pansy could tell he was feeling stupid by repeating the same line again and again. There was also the fact he hadn't addressed a few older students by name, which indicated that he had either forgotten them or considered their names below ranking and therefore undeserving of his notice. They looked insulted all the same, and were conversing in quiet dangerous tones in the corner of the room.

But it was Draco… he never felt _stupid. _He wasn't awkward, he wasn't uncertain in anything he did - everything about him marked superiority, confidence, elegance. He had captured the ways of word flow that only fell from a high-born pureblood's tongue, the graces and diplomatic pertinence that only Slytherins would have. She saw none of these in the boy before her.

"You know you can drop the formalities with me," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Come on, we've been acquainted with each other for 4 years."

She added the 'come on' for good measure, noting the familiar way of talk, hoping to get him to ease up. The Slytherins always played their social graces in public, but even if more than half of Slytherin were milling around in the Common Room, she was pretty sure they wouldn't be overheard; Draco had subtly placed himself in the corner of the room, presumably to avoid too much attention. The gesture was both surprising and almost unheard of.

The tension eased a little when Draco offered her a small smile and admitted quietly, "Just tired."

His sudden openness cheered her more than she cared to admit, but before she could say anything he had excused himself and left for the boys dormitory.

She looked after his retreating figure thoughtfully. It seemed as though Malfoy had changed… but not in a way she particularly disliked either.

X

Harry shot up the steps two at a time, trying hard not to think about the stares after him that was sure to follow. Draco could clear up this mess after they returned to their original bodies, he reasoned. There was no need to panic, he just needed to play it out for a few more hours, then they'd meet up at the library to seek a solution. He might even be able to sleep in Gryffindor dorms tonight.

All the same, he couldn't help but wince at the thought of the last hour. The tension had seized him the moment he stepped into Slytherin dorms, there were shifts of powers and hierarchy wherever he went, and every sentence spoke meant exactly that and a thousand times more. It made his head spin, trying to wrap his mind around their twisted power system and playing up their game while he had no experience whatsoever. He reckoned it was because Draco was highly ranked among the hierarchy that he'd escaped questioning.

Pansy though was another matter… he knew Draco held some measure of distaste for the girl ever since Second Year, but after the Chamber of Secrets disaster the pair seemed to have become closer. Pansy was always wherever the other was, for instance. And they usually paired up together in classes. Not that he'd been paying especial attention to those details. But still. He didn't know how to treat the other, so he'd settled for general friendliness. He hoped he'd not been too cold… if Draco and Pansy were in a relationship, Draco would be in deep trouble.

He stood up and walked towards his dresser, before freezing as a reptilian hiss escaped from the side of his bed.

What was that?

He stopped and listened, but the room had fallen into silence once more. It could have been his imagination; but it was still safer to check. Just in case. This was Slytherin; he wouldn't be surprised if someone decided to release a poisonous scorpion under another's bed or something. It was then when he noticed a cage hidden beneath a dark, flowing robe on the floor just beside his bed. Purely out of curiosity he pulled the material away and promptly yelped at the sudden shock.

Staring back at him was a massive boa constrictor. It was a beautiful and venomous kind of black, with fluorescent green trails marking down the length of its body. It didn't really bode well with him.

Harry stared. Salazar. Even the mere _width _of it was about three quarters the size of his palm.

And it was fitted in a tiny cage _unfit _for a boa constrictor. It couldn't even straighten its body.

What the hell was Draco doing with an enormous deadly snake beside his bed? And why couldn't he have _warned _him!?

Probably hoping that he'd freak out, he thought darkly.

He walked in a circle warily around the snake; it seemed to be sleeping, but of course without having eyelids, he could never know. A forked tongue darted out once in a while though, causing him to jump back a little at the presumably menacing gesture.

Yet there was something odd about the snake- he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The constrictor seemed to be content to be curled up in such a tiny cage, and sometimes Harry could've sworn it curled up tighter.

A glamour perhaps? He muttered a quick _Finite Incantatem _over the cage.

Immediately the snake began to shrink. It grew smaller and _much_ thinner, its striking colors fading into dull green, its length diminishing to half of what it had been. Harry stared, agape, as the snake's tongue continued to dart out of its mouth once in a while as it resumed its empty stare. But the gesture didn't seem menacing anymore; it was familiar.

"It's _you?_" Harry said incredulously, half to the snake half to himself.

"_Well of course it would be me," _a voice said in a tone that made it seem almost sulky. "_Who else would you expect to see after shutting me in this blasted cage for two whole years of my life and counting… hang on, you speak it?"_

The snake rose from its cage and slithered quickly out between the bars of the cage. Harry jumped back in alarm, electrified by both the reply and the sudden activeness of what he thought was a sleeping snake. At least it wasn't a boa constrictor anymore.

"_Y-You talk?" _Harry spluttered, at a complete loss of words. "But- all those times- you never did!"

"_Why didn't you ever __say __you spoke it!" _the snake hissed, enraged, its forked tongue flickering angrily. Harry, however, was beyond listening, too caught up with the unexpected none- too- pleasant surprise.

"_How on earth can you talk!" _Harry said incoherently, staring at it in complete disbelief. _"That's bloody creepy- "_

"_You are a Speaker! Why didn't you say so?" _the snake demanded again.

"Draco? Can I come in?"

Harry glanced at the door in panic. Pansy. Again. Great.

"Er hang on a second," he called back, before wincing at how un-Draco he sounded. Confidence. He had to project that. "I mean, ah - do wait for a moment while I- " – _stash this creepy talking snake away - _"…get dressed."

That sounded lame, even by his standards. Draco would throw a fit if he ever found out about this. Outside the door, he heard Pansy give a giggle before saying "Alright then". Mentally he groaned. He turned to look at the snake, which was coiled up around his foot, licking him with its dry forked tongue as if checking his scent.

"_Go back in,"_ he ordered it in a low tone. "_and don't talk when Pansy's around, she may freak out."_

"_She knows of my existence anyway," _the snake said. Harry could've sworn it rolled its eyes. It sounded sulky too. What on earth was that snake- like creature? It wasn't an Animagus of some sort was it?

He didn't have time to deal with it now.

"You may enter now," he said to the door, a bit self- consciously. Did Draco ever allow Pansy into his dorm? On second thoughts, he really didn't want to know. "Actually don't, I'm coming out," he added the last bit hurriedly. He threw the same black cloth over the cage and drew back the curtains around the huge silver and green bed.

Pansy was standing there, eyeing him critically. "You haven't changed," she noted with a raised eyebrow.

Harry looked down. He was still wearing silver and green robes. He had to look away to keep himself from grimacing. "I've been… busy."

Stupid retort after another. So much for Draco's warning about _upholding his reputation._

"What are you doing here?" he asked Pansy instead, before noting belatedly the bluntness of the question. Oops.

"Busy talking to your pet snake?" she asked with a laugh. Was she teasing him? Or did it mean that Draco's snake - _the _snake - could really talk?

"Yes, my boa constrictor," he replied, not knowing what to say. He tried to sound confident all the same.

Pansy gave him a strange look before rolling her eyes, "You know perfectly well it isn't one. It's just a little grass snake _he _caught back in Second Year."

"_Destapar," _he said, sounding amused- he'd almost forgotten. So it really was the snake. He didn't think Draco would've kept it, much less in his dormitory. He knew the other had always wanted to get himself a pet snake… but he'd always envisioned something huge and expensive, like the boa constrictor for instance. Instead he'd found the little grass snake he'd caught, charmed under a glamour.

"You named it?" Pansy sounded curious.

Harry shrugged. "It means open," he said quietly.

Pansy watched uncertainly as the smile faded as quickly as it had come. She'd never seen Draco act like that before, it was the most open she'd seen him, especially when talking about Evander. His sudden change was surprising… but it did make him even more likeable than before.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," she said, suddenly shy.

The boy returned her smile. "Goodnight," he said, before opening the drapes and walking back to his bed.

But after she'd left, he continued to lie flat on the bed, staring hard at the ceiling above him for a long, long time.

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I've been swamped with tests and ultimately struck down with fever :'( hence I typed this in bed while 'Resting and Recuperating'. I've been extra nice to write a very long chapter haven't I? :D Bit uncertain about this chapter... can I please hear your thoughts?**


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